Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (46 page)

 
          
Shona
laughed aloud. It was a full, hearty laugh, more like a man's than a woman's.
"So, it knows what it doesn't know—not so many men will admit such a
thing, and fewer to a woman. You must be worth the knowing." She tilted
her head a little. "
Are
you
worth the knowing?"

 
          
"Some
days," he agreed.

 
          
Shona
smiled. It set her face alight. And then she turned to the wolfhounds, said a
single word, and Aidan was engulfed.

 
          
"There,"
she said, "they're free. And so are you, if you like; they'll none of them
harm you now."

 
          
Not
intentionally, perhaps, but ten or twelve wolfhounds—even some only half grown—were
enough to drag down a man even in polite greeting.

 
          
The
pups, of course, were uncontrollable, but the others were only slightly more
reserved. Aidan found his elbows trapped in gently insistent mouths, and his
manhood endangered by whipping tails thick as treelimbs. He did what he could
to protect himself—something deep inside laughed to consider Homana's future
unmanned by a pack of dogs—then one of the hounds reared up and put both front
paws on Aidan's chest.

 
          
Off-guard,
Aidan stepped back, felt the paw beneath his boot and heard the anguished yelp;
sought to move, and did: landing full-length on the turf.

 
          
"Agh,
get off the man… let the man
breathe
,
d'ye heat—?" Shona waded in, slapping at hips and shoulders. Eventually
the knot parted; Aidan saw sky again, instead of a forest of legs.

 
          
He
was laughing. He could not help himself. He had grown up with only cursory
attendance by dogs—Cheysuli, having
lir
,
did not keep pets—and knew little enough about the subtleties of unblessed
animals kept as companions. He had known Homanans who trained dogs for hunting,
or kept cats to kill the vermin, but he had never thought about what it was
like. There had been Serri and Tasha in his childhood, and eventually Teel.
Lir
were very different. A man could
reason
with
lir;
now, in this moment, all he could do was laugh and fend off
exuberant hounds.

 
          
Shona
urged them back, giving Aidan room. Eventually he sat up. He did not at once
stand, thinking it might be easier to keep his balance on the ground. The dogs
milled around him, snuffling at ears and neck. Noses were cold, damp,
insistent; Aidan pulled up his cloak and snugged it around his neck.

 
          
Shona
laughed. "They're meaning you no harm. 'Tis their way of welcoming
you."

 
          
Incongruously,
he thought of another welcome. The welcome of a woman for a man, home from
hunting, or war. He saw Shona standing before a rude hillcroft, wild hair and
homespun skirts ravaged by the wind, waiting for his return. He saw Shona
bedecked as a queen, receiving foreign envoys who were agog at the height and
bearing of Homana's queen; at the overwhelming strength that blazed within her
spirit. And he saw Shona kneeling in soiled bedding, sweat-and blood-smeared,
gently aiding a wolfhound bitch as she strained to pass a leggy pup into the
world.

 
          
He
took no note of the milling wolfhounds. Only of Shona, in their midst; of the
sudden excruciating acknowledgment that pinned him to the turf.

 
          
This is what it is to recognize a tahlmorra
—

 
          
Smiling,
Shona reached down a hand. "You'd best come up from there, or they'll be
making a rug out of you."

 
          
Fingers
linked, then hands. And Aidan, moving to rise, felt the power blaze up between
them.

 
          
Deaf.
Blind. Mute. Flesh rolled back from his bones, baring the Aidan within. His
body pulsed with a tangle of emotions so alien he felt ill.

 
          
Shock…
astonishment… denial… anger… fear… an odd recognition—

 
          
—awareness,
sharp and abrupt, of intense, painful arousal—

 
          
And
comprehension so acute it cut like a knife.

 
          
Shona.

 
          
And
then she tore her hand from his. The contact was broken. The clarity, the
empathy, the comprehension was cut off, leaving him sweating and shaking and
ill, bereft of understanding. All he knew was an unpleasant incompleteness.

 
          
Much
like a
lirless
warrior.

 
          
Vision
cleared. He found himself still half-kneeling on the turf, splayed fingers
rigid. His breathing was ragged, noisy, as if he had fought a war and lost.

 
          
Shona's
face was white as the chalk cliffs. Like Aidan, she shook. "Who—?"
she blurted. "Who
are
you—?"

 
          
He
tried to speak and could not. Unwittingly, his free hand groped for hers.

 
          
Shona
lurched back a step. "
No
—"

 
          
The
wolfhounds growled.

 
          
"Wait—"
he managed to croak.

 
          
Three
more steps. Then she whirled, braid flying, and ran.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
He
lay supine, heels, buttocks, and shoulder blades pressed into cool turf. A
mounded hummock pillowed his head. Wind blew down the headlands, rippling the
folds of the cloak he had snugged across his chest. Hair teased his eyes, but
he let it alone, ignoring it, until it crept between lashes. Then he stripped
it away limply and tucked the hand back into woolen cloak.

 
          
He
did not know why he lay on Erinnish turf so close to the chalk cliffs, defying
the vigorous wind, except that it brought him an odd sort of numbness. Not a
true peace, for that required a contentment in spirit, but a certain
detachment, a distance that allowed him to push away the acknowledgment of what
had happened.

 
          
He
smelled salt, sea, fish, and a pervasive dampness. The rich earth of Erinn,
supporting webby turf. But most of all he smelled emptiness, albeit in his
mind. And a blatant futility.

 
          
"I
should go home," he said aloud.

 
          
He
had thought it several times since Shona had left him. But he had not said it,
until now; now it took on the trappings of resolve. He
would
go home—

 
          
"Lad."

 
          
It
took Aidan a moment. Then he realized the voice was quite real, not a figment
of his currently turbulent thoughts, and he sat up. He intended to stand, but
Sean waved him back down. The Lord of Erinn, wind-blown, wind-chafed, joined
Aidan on the spongy green turf and, as Aidan, stared out into the sky beyond
the edge of the cliffs. Sean had changed out of the plain woolens worn for
swordplay into more formal tunic and trews of very deep red. Silver bands the
width of Aidan's forearms clasped formidable wrists, worked with intricate
knots of wire and thumb-sized bosses.

 
          
Aidan
drew in a breath, then sighed. "She told you."

 
          
Sean
continued to stared into the sky. His voice was a rusty baritone. "She
told us a stranger came, giving her no name. And that when he touched her—when
she put out her hand to help him up—the world fell into pieces."

 
          
Aidan
gritted teeth. "Not so much the world, for me.
I
fell into pieces."

 
          
Silently,
Sean put a hand to the turf and uprooted a plot with gentle violence. Then, as
if realizing what he had done, he replaced it and tamped it down with broad,
deft fingers. And laughed softly, acknowledging the fruitlessness of his
repair.

 
          
Aidan
waited. He still felt empty, and numb, and bereft of something he had only
briefly begun to understand, in that instant of physical contact.

 
          
Sean's
laughter died. His face was a good face, full of strength and character
undimmed by nearly fifty years. The gods had been kind to him, gifting him with
strong but well-made bones, and a spirit to match them. Aidan had heard stories
of how Sean had come from Erinn to win Keely's regard, knowing full well if he
lost he lost everything. He had won, in the end, but the battle had been
duplicitous and dangerous. He was not, Aidan knew, a stupid man, or a fool;
Sean of Erinn was an ally well worth having. And Aidan had hoped, for a very
short span, Sean would also become a father.

 
          
It
was Shona's face, Shona's eyes, Shona's hair, underscored by masculinity. And
it hurt with an intensity he had not believed possible.

 
          
Sean
frowned. "There is a thing of Erinn, my lad, very hard to explain. 'Tis a
thing of the blood, much as your
lir
-gifts
are… with something of the same price to be paid, in certain circumstances."

 
          
Recognition
flickered sluggishly. "Do you mean the
kivarna
?"

 
          
Sean's
eyes sharpened. "What are you knowing about it?"

 
          
He
shrugged. "Only that it exists, and that it gives some people the ability
to understand how others feel." He paused. "And that I
have
it."

 
          
Sean
sighed heavily. "How long have you known?"

 
          
"That
it had a name?—a few months, no more. My
jehana
told me when she realized I had the ability…" Aidan's mouth twisted.
"I thought it was something everyone had. I never even
asked
."

 
          
Sean
shook his head. "Not everyone, lad. 'Tisn't so prevalent as it once was—even
then, 'twas mostly limited to the Aerie. We intermarried too much, in younger
days…" He squinted into the sky. "Shona has it from me."

 
          
Aidan
frowned. "But even if she
does
,
what difference does it make? Why does the
kivarna
have anything to do with what happened when we touched?"

 
          
Sean
did not look at him. He stared down at his hands, assiduously pulling up turf
and shredding it. "When I came to manhood," he began, "I was no
better than a rutting boar. What woman I wanted, I took, if she was willing…
and she was. She
always
was: I was
the Prince of Erinn." He looked at Aidan briefly, sharing the common
knowledge of rank and title. "I was taught very young about
kivarna
, so I understood why I found it
distasteful to pursue an unwilling woman, and why I was not a bully, and why it
hurt me when someone else's feelings were hurt. 'Twas a difficult thing, as a
child—but then, you'd be knowing that." His smile was crooked. "They
say I sired half the bastards on this island, but no. There was the Redbeard,
too… perhaps
between
the two of us,
we accounted for half."

 
          
Aidan,
frowning, wondered why Sean was telling him the story of his youth. It was none
of Aidan's business how many bastards Sean had sired, or that he had sired any;
and it had nothing whatsoever to do with his
kivarna
.

 
          
"My
lord—"

 
          
Sean
lifted a silencing hand. "What I'm saying, lad, is I was very lucky,
because I took care to be so. I knew I would one day be marrying the Princess
Royal of Homana, and that if I was
not
very careful, I alone could turn the future of Erinn—and possibly Homana—into a
travesty."

 
          
Aidan's
frown deepened.

 
          
"
Kivarna
," Sean said softly,
"has its own sort of price."

 
          
Aidan
reined in impatience. "My lord—"

 
          
"A
man who has
kivarna
is blessed in
bed," Sean said bluntly, "because he knows what the woman feels. But
that same man, lying with a
woman
who
has the gift, seals himself to her forever. As she seals herself to him."

 
          
Aidan
stared at him, recalling all too clearly the results when he and Shona had
touched.

 
          
Sean
drew in a breath. "Had I lain with a woman who had
kivarna
, I could never have lain with Keely. D'ye see? 'Tis a
mutual
binding… you may know up here you
should lie with another woman, a woman who lacks the gift—" he tapped his
head "—but the body says otherwise. The body refuses."

 
          
"Refuses?"
Aidan echoed.

 
          
Sean's
expression was odd. "There are more ways to geld a man than with a
knife."

 
          
"But—"
Aidan stared at him blankly. "Are you saying so long as I lie with women
who lack
kivarna
, I am in no
danger?"

 
          
"Aye,
lad. And I'm assuming you've found that out already." One of Sean's brows
arched sardonically. "Have you not?"

 
          
Impatiently,
Aidan waved a hand. "Aye, aye… I was never a rutting boar—" He
stopped. "Perhaps I was, a little—but the
reasons
were different…" He saw Sean's private smile; he
scowled and went on. "So, you are saying that Shona and I share this
kivarna
, and if we slept together we
would be bound to one another."

 
          
"Forever,"
Sean affirmed.

 
          
"But
you do not share this with Keely."

 
          
The
Lord of Erinn grinned. " 'Tis your way of asking if I'm faithful, is
it?" Then, as Aidan tried to protest, Sean shook his head. " 'Twas
never an issue, lad. She has no Erinnish, and no
kivarna
, but it doesn't matter. Keely is more than woman enough for
any man, even a reformed boar." Then the humor faded. "D'ye
understand what I'm saying?"

 
          
"Aye."
Oddly, jubilation welled up. Now he understood. Now it had a name. Now it had a
purpose
. Aidan smiled. "What is
the problem? I came to Erinn to see if Shona and I would suit one another.
Obviously, we do."

 
          
Sean's
expression was solemn. "Do you?"

 
          
"Aye!
Even this
kivarna
says we do."

 
          
Sean
nodded after a moment. "Aye. But there's something you're
forgetting."

 
          
Aidan
spread his hands. "What?"

 
          
"Shona.
She's wanting no part of you."

 
          
She
paced, because she could not stand still. Back and forth, back and forth—until
the dogs began to whine. Until her mother, rather more calmly than expected,
told her to stop.

 
          
Shona
swung around. "Stop!" she cried. "You tell me to stop? 'Tis the
only thing keeping me whole—"

 
          
Keely's
contempt, though subtle, displayed itself nonetheless. "There is no sense
in allowing yourself to become so overwrought."

 
          
Shona's
eyes blazed. "And would
you
not
be overwrought?"

 
          
Looking
at her daughter, Keely sighed. She had bequeathed the girl her own stubbornness
and outspokenness—Shona disdained such things as polite diplomacy when
bluntness would do, and she had little patience for convoluted courtesies. She
was, Keely reflected, exactly as she had made her… and now her mother must live
with it.

 
          
But
so must Shona. And just now it was impossible.

 
          
They
were in the central hall, where Shona had announced her arrival by slamming
open the door before the startled servant could do it for her, with less drama.
Shona's flamboyant arrival, complete with eleven wolfhounds, nonetheless was
quickly forgotten in the shock of seeing brown eyes gone black in confusion and
shock, and the pallor of her face. She had blurted out what had happened. Sean
had at once dispatched himself to find Aidan; Keely dismissed gathering
servants and shut the door personally, telling her daughter of Aidan's reason
for his visit.

 
          
Now
the girl paced before the fireplace. The hounds, sprawled here and there as
living, breathing carpets, watched her worriedly. Keely, lacking
kivarna
, nonetheless shared a portion of
their anxiety. But she would not let her daughter see it.

 
          
Shona
turned on her heel and paced back the other way. "Married, is it? They
might have warned me. They might have
written
.
Even
he
might have; was he thinking
I'd welcome him?"

 
          
"Undoubtedly,"
Keely answered. "We give welcome to all our guests."